


you’ll stay for me, won’t you?

by possumrug



Series: my shooting star, my everything. [1]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Domestic Fluff, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Kissing, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Helmet removal, Kinda, Kissing, M/M, theyre both himbos they only just realised, theyre dumb but it’s okay, two slightly drunk idiots kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29585829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possumrug/pseuds/possumrug
Summary: after Din comes back to Mos Pelgo after some time away, he’s surprised to find just how much Cobb missed him.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Series: my shooting star, my everything. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173638
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55





	you’ll stay for me, won’t you?

“Well...if you’re still bein’ gunned for ‘nd you’re in town, you’re always welcome in mos pelgo. Both of ya. That ain’t gonna change, I promise you that.”

“I know.”

Despite everything, it was always the same between the two of them. It was always the same old charade, the back and forth, the pleasantries—and with a shake of their hands, both men parted and went their separate ways. It was always the same. Routine, almost.

Din could pretend like there wasn’t a reason for his constant returning to Tatooine, despite Peli remarking that there was “more to do in your own head than there is things to do ‘round here” during his most recent visit in which he went to her in favour of watching Grogu. 

Peli was clearly catching on to whatever it was.

The mandalorian could pretend “it” was nothing, but he could never convince himself.  
Or anyone else. 

No matter how hard he tried.  
Seeing Peli visit after visit was an example of how strange time passed and how it changed relationships, shifting from him asking her to watch the child, to her asking him at any given chance. (Even if it was to charge more on the side despite him not always going for repairs)

Time, for example, had shifted the nature of his and Cobb’s relationship. There was something about the charming, slightly over-confident Marshal of Mos Pelgo, which Din had found the platonic nature of which to be increasingly less than ideal. Unbeknown to him, Cobb could’ve jinxed him on the exact same thought.

“You sure you ain’t tryin’ to stay a while? Alimba’s— you know the bartender, right? Well, he’s hostin’ a karaoke night at the cantina. Drinks ‘nd good company, ‘nd the company sure as hell loves ya,” Cobb chuckled, hoping to persuade Din in some way. He couldn’t tell if he had, however, due to the coverage of the mandalorian helmet and the dim lighting of the street lamps. He wished—the “cock-block bucket” as he so called it—that he could just tear the damn thing off.

Din gave it a thought—a real, genuine thought. Why was he leaving again, anyway? He didn’t have to worry while he was here. He was safe. Mos Pelgo was devoid of any map markings. Nobody could find Grogu here. Nobody could find him here. What was the reason? Avoidance? Deliberate ignorance? A refusal to acknowledge that something was different in the way they approached one another? Most likely.

“I don’t know if I should,” he answered softly, hoping to convey an apologetic tone through that of his own monotone one. “We’re still searching.”

“Searchin’ for what, excuses? You ain’t the best at this, Mando. Avoidin’ people, I mean. If you’re gonna do it, at least get creative first.”

There was a long beat of silence between the two men, until Din’s sigh over the modulator broke the tension it brought over them. The marshal was right. He wasn’t good at excuses, no matter how hard he tried. This made him feel much more at ease than he was already.

“I can’t stay long,” he made sure to mention, catching the glint of a satisfied grin come onto Cobb’s face in his visor. Seeing that small detail made all the more difference to him.

“Hey, time is time. We’ll be glad t’have ya at all,” Cobb remarked, bringing his hand to Din’s arm and giving it a fond squeeze. “Y’look like ya need a drink. D’you want a drink? Let’s get a drink.”

Before Din could protest, Cobb had slung an arm around his shoulders and began to guide him towards the cantina the pair were all too familiar with. 

The sounds of the townsfolk were all too audible from the end of the street, and not one seemed unhappy or discontent in any way. While Din was growing increasingly hesitant to even approach the life of the party, Cobb only seemed to beam brighter. His hesitance melted like butter to a hot knife.

Pushing them past the swinging doors of the cantina, the marshal led them towards the bar, only them letting go of the man’s shoulders so as to take a seat and call over the bartender. As Din took a seat, he couldn’t help but notice the sudden influx of faces staring at him from a distance. The uneasy feeling returned.

Unsurprisingly, the rounds Cobb had ordered were none other than spotchka, which Din—despite having distaste for in the past—had come to find a new fondness for, which was partly due to Cobb’s influence.  
Glancing once towards the man beside him, still not in the fun and careless mindset which he now noticed contrasted the rest of the room, the mandalorian separated the front part of his helmet from the rest so as to throw back his first shot. As he settled back down, allowing the kick of the drink to hit him, he couldn’t help but notice Cobb’s eyes fixated on where his mouth had been.

“Aren’t you drinking, Marshal?”

That voice queue seemed to snap Cobb out of whatever fixation he was having in that moment, the priceless expression of embarrassment flushing the man’s face coupled with the murmurs of “yeah I am” and “obviously” almost erupting a laugh from Din as he watched Cobb throw back the same shot he had previously.

A brief silence came between the pair of them, but not of the party. The music was still on full blast and the party was very much in full swing, and yet, as both men focused on their current conversation, they found the silence to be almost deafening. Cobb was the first to finally speak up.

“So, Mando—how’s the job been treatin’ ya, huh? Last I heard of ya was through tattletale, sayin’ you were causin’ trouble,” he mentioned, raising a stern brow to the man beside him. Din didn’t know if he could have more appreciation for his helmet in that moment. “You ain’t been causin’ folks trouble—have ya?”

“No. There were low ranking bounty hunters coming for my head just north of here. I did what I had to do.”

“Y’mean you killed ‘em all, right? All of ‘em?”

“This is the way.”

Once the phrase was uttered, hanging loosely out in the open, Cobb gave what Din could only describe as an amused scoff.

“Y’know,” the marshal began, “You’ve always been sayin’ that, Mando, but you ain’t really said what ‘the way’ is. So far, only time I’ve heard you say that is when you’re lookin’ for a quick escape from somethin’ you don’t quite know how to answer.”

Din opened his mouth to say something, but found that no words came out. He couldn’t even utter a properly structured breath even if he tried, not that he’d even give himself the benefit. If Cobb could see his face, chances are he’d agree that the mandalorian was beyond being able to reply. In place of his lack of words, he threw back his second shot of the evening, although this time, with an almost hesitant demeanour.

Cobb seemed to tense, eyes lingering on that same spot he had found himself fixated on some time earlier. Only this time, not with admiration, but of fear.

“Hey—I ain’t oversteppin’, am I?” he asked worriedly.

That question was what finally captured Din’s attention, causing the man to look up and silently shake his head. Unbeknown to Cobb, the man in question was more fixated on the volume of the room.

Worrying over the continued silence between the two of them, Cobb leaned towards the Mandalorian, bringing a hand to his arm and giving it the most comforting squeeze he could muster. This, finally, prompted Din to fully look in his direction.

Despite running a town full of all kinds of people who depended on him, the Marshal often found himself useless when it came to his or other’s emotions. Not being able to deal with his own or vent them elsewhere, most conversations went down the messy path of him rattling off things he wished he himself was hearing. It worked, most of the time.

Despite this, he never felt like he truly made a difference.

“How’s about we do some dancin’, huh? You ever been dancin’?” Cobb offered, to which Din shook his head. It was a start.

“Yeah, well— bit’a drink, you won’t need experience. Trust me, all us folks are in the same boat tonight,” he chuckled just as he downed another shot.  
Before Din could protest, he found himself being yanked up by the arm and dragged towards the centre of the room.

The night progressed in a better fashion than either man had anticipated.

Their first series of dances had been amongst the townsfolk, and in that experience Din had found that running towards people at full speed only to spin them by the arm could ACTUALLY be fun, despite his reserves.

The second dance counted singularly as it had mostly been between them, and given that the break before that had been filled with more spotchka and friendly conversations, it was more of a shared shimmy and shake between them as they found themselves laughing. Even Din, to Cobb’s surprise.

The third dance of the evening had been to wrap up the celebration as a whole. Not knowing what to expect had led to awkward laughs and nudges as they quickly found themselves amidst a slow dance. Every couple in the town had found their respective partners, and by circumstance the two had found themselves nudged together. With little care and little reserve, the pair agreed to dance, as opposed to sitting out like a select few had.

Cobb showed Din where to place his hands, and the Mandalorian had obliged in a thoughtful and—surprisingly clumsy—manner. Cobb found it endearing.

The next few minutes were spent with the two bumbling around each other’s feet, sharing a laugh or two in the process before turning oddly quiet. Neither of them realised why, until Cobb found that clasping his hands behind Don’s neck garnered a reaction.

With the self confidence of a man who had never slowdanced a day in his life, Din lightly brushed the pads of his thumbs against Cobb’s hips. This, in return, earned him a reaction of his own. It was only then that the pair acknowledged what exactly was happening.

Despite the physicality, the pair were mentally in a dance with one another. A tango, almost. Neither of them knew quite what to expect, and yet the intensity of the act was comfortable. Scarily comfortable.

Testing the air, Cobb loosened his grip on the man in favour of dropping his head into the soft spot of cape which lay against Din’s shoulder. The action brought a brief, concerning tenseness over the two, and the Marshal almost recoiled until the cold press of metal lay against the top of his head.

The wash of security that blanketed the two of them was instant, with both men content in sharing one another’s warmth and the knowledge that they were seen. That they saw each other, and acknowledged the unspoken words they so desperately wanted to share—

“D’you wanna step out? With me? Right now, I mean.”

The quiet words brought Din out of his gaze much like a moth to a light, and his attention instantly fixated on the pair of brown eyes looking up into his own. Smiling behind the helmet he so desperately wanted to be rid of, he nodded, and the Marshal had never bee quicker to oblige.

Guiding Din by the hand, Cobb brought the man out through the back entrance of the cantina, smiling back at him the entire time.

Just as Cobb opened his mouth to get a word in, his back had unceremoniously found a liking to the smooth stone of the cantina wall behind him, and before he could process what had happened, Din crowded himself into his space.

“I’ve been thinking about you since I left. A lot. This isn’t the drink talking.”

Cobb, clinging to every word as he registered what was happening, clumsily found his arms around the Mandalorian’s neck, despite how little space there was to do so.

“Yeah, well— I been thinkin’ about you too. Since you showed up here, I mean. And that ain’t the drink, I got a...I got a high tolerance for-...”

Just as Cobb went to finish his thought, Din’s hands had other plans. They gripped at his waist with want, need, or something in between that he could quite place. Either way, it resonated in him somehow.

“I wanna kiss you, Din. I wanna kiss you for all them times I never did. I was jus’...scared.”

With a short sigh, Cobb moved one of his hands to undo the mechanism on the side of Din’s helmet, and without objection from the other, slid the beskar up just enough so that his lips were bared to the lukewarmth of the night.

Leaning in, inch by inch, he was met halfway by those lips slipping into his own, which pressed Cobb further towards the wall much to both men’s delight.

The next minute or two was filled with nothing but the sounds of messy kisses, and the occasional chuckle following a bump or a slip as they fully explored the moment to their advantage.

And finally, as both men drew back, breaths intertwining and hands gripping hair and clothes, the chuckle Cobb let out only caused the latter to smile dumbly where he stood. This time, Cobb could see, and it only made him smile wider.

“So I’ll be seein’ you next week-?” He asked softly, sliding one hand over the soft texture of Din’s cape and up into the sweaty curls beneath the man’s helmet. As the mando leaned back into the wall, he made sure to keep his hands planted firmly just above Cobb’s waist, much to the man’s delight.

“You’ll be seeing me any time you wish to, Marshal. That’s a promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> TYSM FOR READING!! this is a sorta?? prequel to the last one since this is them realising that they love each other and whatnot 🏃 i love them sm and it means the world to me that you read this so ty
> 
> (COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED!!)


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